The silence stretched, fragile and heavy, after their bickering wound itself into nothing. Harper tried to focus on the words on the page in front of her, but the letters blurred. She was too aware of the presence next to her—too aware of the way Damian leaned back in his chair, pretending to skim through his book but sneaking glances at her whenever he thought she wouldn't notice.
She shifted, restless, and finally sighed. "You're really not going to leave, are you?"
Damian's lips twitched into that infuriating half-smirk. "Why would I? You're the one who sat down."
"I sat because you wouldn't shut up otherwise," she muttered, tapping her pen against her notebook.
"Exactly," he said smoothly, as if he'd won something. "See? I'm effective."
She groaned, dragging her palm over her face. "You're impossible."
"Annoying," he corrected, smirk fading into something quieter. "I know. You don't have to remind me."
